


Whisper Soft and True

by nonisland



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Early Relationship, Established Relationship, FE3H Kinkmeme, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, M/M, Post A-Support (Fire Emblem), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Wartime Romance, dimitri's habit of casually declaring his undying love in regular conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonisland/pseuds/nonisland
Summary: It is not fair to inflict another late night on Dedue, and Dimitri knows from their years together that there is no chance at all of persuading Dedue to leave him laboring alone, whether the work is weeding gardens or planning wars.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Whisper Soft and True

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**3houseskinkmeme**](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/) [prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2144328#cmt2144328) “Any/Dedue, tenderness. I just want someone to treat Dedue gently. […] Anyone, any rating, any kind of relationship as long as Dedue is happy and feeling good. Can be sweet fluffy gen or sweet smut, whatever. Go wild.” (OP, you are doing Sothis’s work out here.) Title from the Beatles’ “Words of Love.”
> 
> * * *

The list of tasks to be completed does not grow shorter. Dimitri had thought, at first, that the worst of it would pass; that he could catch up on work that had accumulated like dust in an unused room while he was…not well. Instead he finds it to be like clearing dust from a forest. There is too much to _do_ to rest. Still, Dedue asks him, and the professor orders him, and from time to time Dimitri finds himself too tired not to yield.

He knows exhaustion, is the thing. It is as much his companion as the dreams that cause it: the chill of it as familiar as failure, the weight of it heavy as grief.

It is embarrassing, therefore, to realize that he has missed its marks on Dedue. He could plead his own fatigue, or the plans that must be made before they can take Fort Merceus and strike on to Enbarr, but those are just excuses, and inadequate ones. Dedue had given him nine years of their lives—had almost given Dimitri his life itself—even before they began to build this fragile new thing between them in the aftermath of Gronder. Dimitri knows Dedue’s face—familiar, beloved—better and more fondly than he knows his own. He should have seen sooner.

Still, it is not too late. That awareness, too, is a fragile new joy.

Dimitri covers the map of Merceus with his hand, blocking the terrain and roads from Dedue’s sight. “I remember you telling me to sleep last night,” he says. “I am not sure I remember you saying you would do the same.”

“There were a few additional tasks,” Dedue admits.

There are always a few additional tasks. Fort Merceus will be a brutal fight, just as the battle to save Derdriu had been, just as all of the last five years have been. And before then, their army must be supplied and tended. And for that to happen… And so on, endlessly, until they win or they die, and either way find rest.

“I will not leave you here tonight,” Dimitri says firmly. Dedue’s posture is still perfect, but that doesn’t conceal the bruised look of his eyes or the slight drag to his motions. “If you wish me to sleep you must come with me.”

Dedue looks at him across the map, and Dimitri looks back, refusing to blush. They have been…whatever exactly they are—this thing less mapped-out than courtship, much richer than dalliance—for weeks, now. He doesn’t _need_ to blush, and wouldn’t have even if he hadn’t truly just meant sleep.

“Half an hour longer,” Dedue says. “Sylvain’s suggestion of circling west instead of cutting straight through Varley lands may deserve another look.”

Dimitri removes his hand from the map and considers it. “Ah?” And then, “Ah, hm. Yes. You are quite right. I’d like to bring that to the professor in the morning. The foothills should provide some cover, as well as taking us further from Bergliez, but…”

It is closer to an hour later when, with a jolt of guilt, he remembers his good intentions. The proposed strategy is almost done, and he thinks it will please the professor, just as he knows Sylvain will laugh and credit Dimitri for it. But the rest can wait. If it weren’t for Dedue, he would stay up longer, to be sure the plan was the best he could offer, but Dedue is waiting with him. It is not fair to inflict another late night on Dedue, and Dimitri knows from their years together that there is no chance at all of persuading Dedue to leave him laboring alone, whether the work is weeding gardens or planning wars.

“Enough,” he says, and Dedue looks surprised.

“Already?”

Dimitri glances out the window, where the moon has already sunk out of sight. “The midnight bell rang while we were still discussing the risks of trying to bring cavalry through broken terrain, I believe.”

“Ah,” says Dedue.

“As you are so fond of telling me,” Dimitri says with a smile that barely feels rusty at all, by now, “these maps will still be here in the morning, and rest will sharpen our minds.”

Dedue pushes his chair back from the table. “Very well.”

It is a victory, small and sweet with nothing at all to mourn—the best and rarest kind. It is even sweeter when Dimitri reaches the door into the courtyard first and is able to hold it open for Dedue, who doesn’t even argue. Opening doors is certainly not beyond Dimitri’s skills, and nothing he does for Dedue is beneath his dignity; the thought that he’s finally said it enough that Dedue might be _listening_ is a joyful one.

The night is beautiful, with the heat of the day finally gone. The stone is warm underfoot, but a breeze stirs the air, and if they were still young and careless enough to run barefoot across the grass it would be cool and yielding. A carefree abundance of stars hang blazing in the depths of the sky, bright enough that the candles they hold don’t blot them out. Even the heat of these southern summers might be worth it for nights as soft and deep as this.

“It is a lovely night,” Dimitri says, quiet against the great hush of the empty courtyard. “I am honored to share it with you.”

“I…feel the same,” Dedue says. He hasn’t yet managed to call Dimitri by his name again, but he has stopped calling him _your Highness_ when they are alone, and that is yet another of these little personal victories Dimitri is hoarding.

The Blue Sea Star winks at them from above the roof of the cathedral—a promise fulfilled. An old bitterness faded, that the Goddess could return while the rest of them were denied that. “It would have been nothing without you here,” Dimitri says. “Do you understand that?”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Dedue says, reluctant as ever to accept his own value.

Dimitri stills him with a hand on his arm, light enough that Dedue could easily brush it off if he wanted, gauntlet or no. Instead he stops, and turns, and faces Dimitri. “I should,” Dimitri says. He feels his voice rising in frustration and fights to keep it down. “I have told you before—you are irreplaceable. I could not imagine a victory without you, only an end.”

“Your—” Dedue cuts his own protest off. He looks at Dimitri as if _Dimitri_ is the exceptional one here; Dimitri is just drawing breath for another counter when Dedue takes the candle from his hand and bends to kiss him, brief and soft, like an answer itself.

“You are,” Dimitri says, when Dedue straightens up again. The air is cooler now that they no longer touch. “I…” He shakes his head, knowing what he wants to say and unsure how it will be taken. “Shall we go on?”

Dedue nods, and gives Dimitri his candle back. Dimitri takes it, and then takes Dedue’s free hand in his. They have been at Garreg Mach all day, so instead of the dull sound of metal on metal there is just silence, and the gentle pressure as Dedue’s bare hand squeezes Dimitri’s gauntlet in greeting, and then relaxes. It would be nice, on as warm and starlit a night as this, to be hand in hand in truth, but… Well.

Passing the training hall they hear the blunt, furious impact of wood on wood even through the door. Dimitri hesitates—it must be one of his oldest friends still awake, or awake again. Ashe wouldn’t be using a sword; Mercedes and Annette have no use for the training grounds at all. If it’s Felix, someone should tell him to rest, but if it’s Ingrid or Sylvain, only a nightmare would have driven them up to practice at this late an hour, and neither of them will thank him for knowing it.

Dimitri turns at the scuff of boot on stone coming from his left and sees another pool of candlelight blooming at the mouth of the hallway to the dorms, glinting on foxfire-green hair. “Professor!” he says guiltily, as if he’s a student again caught out after curfew, instead of the leader of an army headed responsibly to bed.

“Professor,” Dedue echoes him, more calmly.

“I was coming to be sure neither of you forgot to sleep, but I see there’s no need.” The professor’s approving smile warms Dimitri right through. “I’ll check on whoever’s in the training hall—the two of you rest.”

“Yes, Professor,” Dimitri says, relieved. Even Sylvain, if he is the one in there, won’t be put on the defensive by their professor checking on him. The best of all solutions, handed over easily like another gift. “Thank you.”

Dedue, a hint of a smile in his voice, says, “You as well, Professor.”

“…Yes,” the professor says. “Of course. Thank you, Dedue.” The two of them nod acknowledgement at each other.

Dimitri glances back over his shoulder once, as the professor slips quietly into the training hall, and then makes himself dismiss that worry. It has been a struggle, learning that he can’t care for everyone at once when they need conflicting things from him, but he _is_ learning it. He is.

He hesitates as Dedue fits his key into the lock. “Should I, ah…”

“As you wish,” says Dedue. The door clicks open.

Dimitri shakes his head. “As _you_ wish. I am tired, but I can sleep in my own bed—” He almost says _just as well_ , but that would be a lie, and Dedue knows it. “If you would prefer to have yours to yourself. Or if you would like me to stay, I…would like that.”

“I would like it as well,” Dedue says. Dimitri thinks he might be blushing, but the light is nowhere near strong enough to tell.

Inside, Dedue strips quickly down to his smallclothes while Dimitri is still working the clasps on his gauntlets loose. It is delicate work, made trickier by his distraction when he looks up to see Dedue pulling his shirt over his head, the thick muscle of his chest and arms rippling in the candlelight. One of the clasps bends between Dimitri’s fingers—he is only tired, not dead.

Dimitri straightens it guiltily and gets the gauntlets off without further incident, then undresses, folding his clothes neatly on the shelf under the windows and leaving his eyepatch atop the pile. “It will be warm,” he says, as Dedue hesitates at the dresser with his own nightshirt and Dimitri’s spare in his hands. “Especially with two of us—the Officers’ Academy hardly expected these beds to be shared.” The stuffing to the mattresses is new, and some of the mattresses themselves, but the frames are not.

“True,” Dedue says. “Will you take the side against the wall?”

He always wants Dimitri to take the side against the wall. Here in Garreg Mach where they’re safe Dimitri will give him that much. He blows out his candle and climbs into the bed, tucking himself into as small a space as possible, and nudges the pillow to be sure it will be under Dedue’s head.

Dedue extinguishes his candle, and darkness pours in to fill the room. The bed dips and creaks as he settles into it. Dimitri rolls over and curls against him, one arm flung protectively across Dedue’s chest, with Dedue’s heart beating steady and sure beneath his touch. He can have this. It is, somehow, permitted. “I cannot believe my fortune,” Dimitri says, soft in the darkness. “That after everything, you are here with me. It is more than I deserve.”

“No,” Dedue says firmly.

“Yes.” Dimitri presses a kiss to his shoulder, a little above where he knows the wide line of a sword-scar is. “You are the best part of my life. I know—I know you worry about what the people of Faerghus will say, and you wish to wait to name this until I have rebuilt the Kingdom to right every old wrong, but…I am proud to be here with you _now_. To be your friend, your lover, your companion—that is an honor that I treasure, more than anything. I only wish I could give you something you value as much in return.” His voice has gone thick, and his eye prickles with a warning of tears; he falls silent.

For a moment the only thing Dimitri hears is Dedue’s uneven breathing, and he worries he’s said too much too quickly. Then Dedue says, “I…you have. You always have.” Dimitri feels his next inhale, the thick silence of the room. “Dimitri.”

Dimitri can’t hide the shiver at the sound of his name, pressed as close as they are. More than that, though, it is another burst of sweetness, filling him with bubbles like sparkling wine, light and brilliant. “I am glad,” he whispers, resting his face against Dedue’s shoulder. “And someday— But I’m keeping you awake, after all my plans to make sure you slept for once.”

Dedue pulls him a little closer, so they are all but tangled together. “I find I sleep better when you are with me,” he says.

“Really?” Dimitri asks. “I will have to buy us a bigger bed, then.”

Dedue brushes a lock of Dimitri’s hair out of their faces but doesn’t protest, which is the brightest and most unexpected victory of the night. Dimitri falls asleep still planning what to do next.


End file.
